


Stand by Me

by Verabird



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:32:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Set after The Last of the Time Lords, if Lucy hadn't shot.<br/>The Master is reluctantly travelling with the Doctor and he seems to be keeping out of harm's way. But the Master is infamous across the universe and has made many enemies, even the Doctor struggles to protect him.<br/>To keep him safe, the Doctor forces the Master to become human via fob-watch, throwing his predators off Time Lord scent. He becomes Harry Saxon; and the Doctor becomes the last Time Lord again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

**Prologue**

 

"No! You can't make me!"

"I have to; it's the only way."

There was a raw desperation on the Master's face that the Doctor found new and disconcerting. He watched in despair as the Master began to run his hands frantically through his hair, almost pulling, erratically dancing from foot to foot. It was difficult to watch this agony, but the Doctor knew it was the best he could do for the moment.

He felt the cold watch in his hand, tracing the Gallifreyan circles with a light fingertip. He imagined what it would be like to hold it once it was filled with a Time Lord soul; warm and comforting. He'd never felt one that contained Time Lord DNA before. He'd only seen his own before and after, left empty, and it was something hardly ever successfully achieved.

The Master through an aggressive kick at the console causing the Doctor to start in surprise and immediately run round it to the Master's side. He tentatively put a hand on the distressed man's shoulder, which seemed to only further aggravate him.

"I promised to keep you safe," He said firmly. "And I will, but you have to let me."

The master looked up with two bloodshot eyes into the Doctor's sympathetic brown ones. That all too familiar stoic look made his stomach flip in grim anticipation.

"Please," He murmured. "Don't make me beg."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. He'd expected a fuss. He'd imagined kicking and screaming. Maybe a couple of light scratches and injuries, but not this, and this was worse. The Master might have a thing for seeing the Doctor on his knees and begging for his life, but to see it in reverse felt extremely unnatural.

"Then, please don't make me." He held out the watch, wanting the Master to take it and accept this for himself without force. The Master contemplated it for a moment, then whacked his hand away causing the watch to leap out of the Doctor's palm and thud and skid across the metal grate.

"I'd rather die than become a pathetic little human." The corner of his mouth twitched as he saw this comment made the Doctor wince. He still had some control over the man, even if he was a prisoner. "I endured it for seventeen years, a frail old man, my image was ruined. My infamy destroyed."

"You'd still look like yourself. Still young, still..." He trailed off trying to think of an adjective that could best be used to describe the Master. The fact was, he had no idea how this would truly turn out. He knew that with the Master's Time Lord DNA safely trapped inside a watch it would be much harder for those that wanted to find him to get to him. Not only that, but he'd find a safe spot, somewhere in the past, somewhere quiet, where they could hide. He wasn't sure what kind of human the Master would be. The Professor had been fairly pleasant before he'd opened his watch. Perhaps it would be an improvement. But the Doctor wasn't after a personality change. He needed the Master safe and this was the best idea he had.

"You have no choice."

"I have a choice!" His voice was in a bitter range, it grated painfully on the Doctor. "My mind is stronger than you think. My mind will resist-"

The Doctor cut him off, swiftly leaning forward to place a hand on each of the Master's temples.

"No...no! Stop it!"

The Master could only protest with voice, he was rooted to the spot, held in place by the connection of Time Lord skin on Time Lord skin. The Doctor pressed their foreheads together, blocking his mind to those drums he always struggled through whenever they communicated like this. This was going to be one-way, the Doctor's mind insisted, as he allowed his thoughts to flow through into the Master's mind.

The Master watched helplessly as the image of him trapped, tortured and killed flashed across his eyes. He saw the Doctor begging for his life to be spared, saw him sacrificing himself, saw him allowing the world to collapse in order to save him. The Doctor was showing him the deepest nightmares in his brain. Visions of the Time Lords returning, only to destroy him and his plans for power and control contorted in front of him. The Master thought it was careless, dangerous. It made him weak. But, while one heart was well and truly black and twisted, the other had some light left.

The sparks between their skin stopped abruptly as the Doctor pulled away. "Do you see now?"

The Master was silent as the Doctor retrieved the fallen pocket-watch from the floor.

"When will you free me?" He asked quietly.

"When it's safe."

He handed the Master the watch, pleased to see that even though he was holding it loosely and reluctantly, he hadn't thrown it across the console room.

There wasn't any more he needed to say. Crouched down and removing a panel, he pulled out the terrifying metal device used to break down cells and rewrite DNA. He turned back to see the Master staring closely at the carvings on the watch.

"It's..."

"My name, yes." The Doctor saw that the Master was holding his breath. How long had it been since they'd called each other by their first names? Not since the Academy days surely. Maybe once or twice after that, or was that a dream?

"It's the only one I had. Well, only one that was capable of containing you."

It was times like this when the Master remembered he was still the Doctor's prisoner. He could fight and scream and shout and bite, but at the end of the day, within the TARDIS walls, he was under his control. The Doctor had tried to make it seem like they were just old friends travelling. He'd shown him galaxies and exploding stars, but only from the safety of the TARDIS doors. He hadn't stepped on solid ground in months. The Doctor wouldn't risk it. It was a cruel sort of irony that he was going to gain a certain amount of freedom in this plan.

He felt the metal contraption placed on his head and clenched his teeth. He hadn't given up fighting. He knew the Doctor hadn't seen inside his thoughts during those moments and he knew that when the time finally came the Doctor would be unprepared.

"This is going to hurt," The Doctor warned with a concerned expression.

"Good."

"What?"

"I said, good. I want you to watch me suffer." He smiled wryly, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't give me that you pathetic excuse for a Time Lord."

The Doctor had won, but the last thing the Master saw was the defeat in his face in that moment when he flicked the switch to start the process. And then came the darkness and the pain and the sounds of agonising screams and then the Master's body went limp.

The Doctor caught him before he hit the ground, carefully tucking the watch away in his jacket pocket, before lifting the limp man and carrying him to one of the TARDIS bedrooms. It would be a while before he woke up and in that time he needed to find the perfect time and place for them to blend in.

He reached down to touch the Master's upturned palm. Nothing. None of the usual electricity that passed between the touch of two Time Lords. He gave it a squeeze, more for his own benefit than the Master's, knowing he couldn't feel it and knowing he wouldn't know who he was even if he could.

"Goodnight Harry," He said solemnly to the sleeping human before softly closing the bedroom door.

 


	2. The Whispering Woods

 

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep._

 

He'd always been rather fond of the sixties, but the Doctor thought that it might be too risky to land there, what with all those pesky timelines. Not that it had ever stopped him before. Perhaps a little earlier. The fifties maybe, the countryside, somewhere quiet and small with not too many neighbours and easier to hide the TARDIS. A plan was slowly unravelling in his head. He'd created a new identity for the now human man residing deep in the TARDIS and a way for him to be beside him without arrousing suspicion.

The console whirred to life as the Doctor spun around the coral strets, stroking levers and pushing buttons, flying down the time vortex to a remote English village in early 1953. A flash of psychic paper here was all he needed to find the perfect place for them to settle.

It was quite a nice house really. A wrought iron fence with a delicate pattern surrounded some overground bushes and struggling flowers. It lead up to a door with pealing paint, but with more of a lived in homely feel than an abandoned one. He laughed a little at the idea of the Master settling down in a two bedroom house with a white-washed front. He'd never exactly been a candles and rose petals kind of man.

The TARDIS was hiding in plain sight on the street corner. He doubted it was somewhere the new Master would poke around. Luckily there was noone at their windows to watch as he carried an unconscious man down the street and across the threshold of their new home. Not long now before he woke, a few hours at most.

This was now Harry, Harry Saxon. War veteran wanting a quiet life in the country, and the Doctor was still the Doctor, Harry's Doctor now, living with him to help him through the process of shell-shock, as he still heard the bombs and bullets exploding in continuous rhythm in his mind. It was a fairly solid story. A few careful photographs here and there to set the scene and a change of clothes. The stage was set.

He imagined the Master waking up alone. He didn't want that. Hastily filling a bowl with warm water and grabbing a cloth he headed back to the Master's bedside and began to dab gently at his forehead. He heard a soft groan as a pair of eyelids fluttered open.

"My...my head..."

"It's alright...Harry."

The word felt foreign and strange on his tongue, but he could have no misgivings about this plan now.

"What happened?"

"Bad dream," the Doctor said concisely.

"And who...?"

"It's me Harry...the Doctor? Your Doctor."

He half expected the Master to laugh out loud at him and spurt something like 'don't be ridiculous you old fool I know who you are, and why are you calling me Harry? Have you gone insane?' He held his breath for a moment, waiting for the reply.

"Doctor? Oh yes, of course, my Doctor. Forgive me, the dreams sometimes make me confused."

"Tell me about your dream."

"Bright lights in the back of my head. It was like my whole life flashed before my eyes at five times the speed; like they tell you it does when you die."

The Doctor bit his lip as he remembered pressing his fingers to the unconcious Master's temples, creating false memories, forcing him to naturally accept his new identity. A small part of him wanted this to fail. It felt so wrong for the Master not to be insulting him, or grinning, or laughing, or some combination of the three.

"You didn't fight in the war did you?"

"No." A lump caught in the Doctor's throat. Well, not that war.

"You couldn't know what it was like Doctor. Watching whole towns burn to the ground, cities ravashed in flames, helpless to save anyone."

"I can try to imagine," He said stiffly. He knew exactly what that was like. Why hadn't he chosen for the pair of them to be hermits in Greenland or something? Why did he always have to bring the taste of loss and destruction everywhere he went like ash on his tongue.

"You couldn't imagine Doctor, you just couldn't."

It was strangely comforting for the Master to be so stubborn. Then again, being helpless to save anyone sounded more like a field day than a painful memory. He was uneasy about this fragile Master. It made him more afraid for some reason.

"How about you get some rest? You must be exhausted."

"I only just woke up Doctor, I feel like I've slept for days."

"It might be best to lie down for a while until the effects wear off. Of the dream...the effects of the dream."

"I suppose you're right Doctor."

The Master admitting he was right? But, no, this wasn't the Master. Not really. Had he truly been John Smith? He couldn't remember anything of his time inside that watch, but surely there must have been something of himself left behind.

The Doctor wrung the cloth through with warm water again, making to dab it against the Master's forehead, more of an excuse to touch his temples again than anything else. Again there was nothing. Their psychic connection had gone too. For the short time the Master had been with him aboard the TARDIS he'd been able to feel a pulsing in the air, invisible energy travelling between them whenever they were close. It was an old Time Lord ability. To always be able to sense one of their own kind if they were near. He'd had so many years without a connection, but to have it and then have it yanked ruthlessly away mde him feel more alone than he hand before.

The Master had his eyes closed, but the Doctor noticed his chest was still rising and falling fairly regularly and so he hadn't fallen back asleep. "Open the curtains would you Doctor?" He murmured, eyes still closed.

The Doctor obliged, letting some of the early morning Spring sun in. It was a remarkable view they had. Spreading across the thickets and towards the darker forrest, Eastern light tripping over the highest branches in cascades of yellow and orange. Dust flecks danced in the golden rays that landed on the Master's face. It almost looked like regeneration energy flowing through him.

* * *

 

 

The Master had ended up gently slipping back to sleep into dreams which the Doctor hoped would be kinder. He now sat in the small yet cosy living room running his fingers nervously over the chair arms. No trip ups so far and a rather placated Master. It was easier than he'd expected, but he wasn't going to lull into a false sense of security.

He heard the floorboards creak behind him and whipped round, almost expecting to see the Master pointing a lazer at him and cackling about how his plan had worked. He was just standing there, head quizically tilted to one side.

"I've never asked you Doctor, do you have any other patients? Besides me?"

"Yes, well no. Not at the moment."

"You're always around when I need you. I'm grateful for that."

This was wrong, so wrong. He searched desperately for a spark of mischief or a sign that something was going to flip. There was just a smiling, timid man.

"You know Doctor- it's such a pleasant day, we should make the most of it."

No, no we shouldn't. Bad idea, very bad, you can never leave this house Harry Saxon for at least two years and give me a minute to think of a reasonable explanation why.

"Danger lurks round every corner." He winced internally at the combined melodramaticness and cheesiness of that statement.

"Are you serious Doctor? Come on, a walk in the woods never hurt anyone."

"That's what Robert Frost said to me once. Look what happened to him.”

“What?”

“A book. I'm reading a book about Robert Frost, or by him, I don't know. One or the other I think.”

The Master frowned. “You can be most unusual Doctor.”

It wasn't his fault that Robert Frost had an existential crisis after he'd landed the TARDIS in the woods of Lorobeya, but at least a decent poem had come of it.

A walk in the woods might do them both some good. Give the new Master a chance to talk about himself and work himself out. The Doctor assumed he still liked to talk about himself; one of the Master's favourite hobbies.

The Master was already strapping his boots up and pulling a coat on. The Doctor put on his own brown one and found the both of them heading outside and walking towards the woods.

“They call this the Whispering Woods,” The Master said softly, his eyes resting on some unfocused point in the distance. “Legend has it that if you stay silent long enough the spirits will talk to you.”

“Whose legend?”

“Just the locals gossiping.”

If this wood was full of wisps or ghosts or gaseous life-forms he'd feel like kicking himself. He'd scouted the area for alien tech and found nothing, but if something advanced was lying in wait...

_Lying in wait? Listen to yourself Doctor. There's nothing here._

“I was never one for the supernatural.”

“Oh Doctor, don't you want to believe? That there's something more beyond our comprehension? Something wonderful beyond the sky and past the stars?”

The Doctor was wondering if he'd put too much of himself inside the Master's mind when his fingertips had rested on his temples. It was like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Maybe.” It was all he could say.

Due to the Spring leaves flourishing in a multitude of green shades, thick and heavy on the trees, even the bright morning light struggled to make it to the forrest floor. It became darker as soon as they crossed the threshold of the first few trees and it wasn't long before the trees became heavy and much closer together. If they took a turn or even spun around they might not find their way out.

When they were about as deep as they could get, they heard the first pattering above their heads. It took a while for the drops to reach them as they zigzagged down the leaves to the bed of leaves below.

He'd had to arrive in April. He couldn't have skipped ahead to June, or maybe even November or December when it would become too cold to go outside.

“Nothing bad ever happens in the woods,” the Doctor grumbled.

“Come my dear Doctor, what good did complaining about the rain do to anyone?”

“It's not the rain I'm complaining about.”

He saw something flicker across the Master's face. Recognition? No, it was hurt. A small glimpse of it, tiny and insignificant, but there nonetheless.

A raindrop landed on the end of the Master's nose and he grinned. The Doctor could feel it landing in his hair, flattening it to his face.

“This is more like it. Something exciting!”

“I thought you wanted peace.”

“No Doctor, that's what you want I think. I hate the silence. The rain, it fills my thoughts, and I love it.”

The Master tilted his head to one side, just like he'd done before when he was contemplating the Doctor in the house. The corner of his mouth twitched into a mischevious smile and in a split-second he'd darted off at a run.

It took the Doctor slightly longer to notice what had happened and it took all his willpower not to yell “Master!” towards him with all his frustrated might. He changed his words last second.

“Harry! What are you doing?”

“Come on!” A delighted voice shot back at him, its owner now almost vanished within the trees. The Doctor began to run, focusing on not slipping on the wet leaves with each footfall.

“Harry! Stop!”

He was surprised that he'd managed to catch up to him. Then again his legs were much longer and his determination stronger. He sprinted round to catch him and stumbled backwards as the force of the running man hit him.

“Doctor, I feel so alive!”

“Stop, please, before you hurt yourself.”

Both their hair was plastered to their foreheads, and the Doctor could see the Master's eyes this close, they had a familiar twinkle. What did that mean?

“We'll get wet if we stay still. We should get out the rain. Run with me.”

He stepped backwards out of the Doctor's clasp and held his wrist in firm defiance.

“Run!”

He continued to dart off, this time dragging the unwilling Doctor behind him. They turned this way and that, avoiding trunks and low branches, as the Doctor tried not to think about finding their way back.

The Master stopped abruptly, causing the Doctor to keep running and find his wrist getting caught in the unexpected stillness of the Master. He tripped into the grass, pulling the Master down with him.

Swiftly scrambling to his feet he noticed that they'd reached the edge of the woods. They'd run a mile at least, perhaps much more.

“Harry, you'll catch your death out here. Lets go back. Harry?”

The Master was staring up at something. His eyes slightly glazed, his head tilted again. The Doctor followed his eyes to see the derelict building, barely standing on its foundations, looming in front of them.

“This is brilliant.”

Funny idea of brilliant, the Doctor thought, this broken and dishevelled building.

“What?”

“Let's explore.”

“No.”

“Come on Doctor, you're no fun.”

“I'm fun,” he replied indignantly. “I'm just realistic. That will collapse on you as soon as you open the door.”

He looked up at the broken building again, trying to see what the Master was seeing there. It looked like an old hospital, maybe late 1800s. Clearly it hadn't been used for years.

“Maybe it's haunted.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“But, don't you want to find out?”

Why did he have to be this difficult? Why couldn't he have fob-watched him into a nice cat or something, instead of an incorrigible human.

The Master was still lying on the damp grass and neither of them seemed to be paying too much attention to the rain that was still drenching the pair of them. He was about to spring up again and make a run for the building when the Doctor grabbed the back of his shirt. He flailed for a moment then gave up.

“I can't let you wear yourself out. It wouldn't be right. Medically speaking.”

He could plead, make a run for it again, it didn't look like either would work. His case wasn't helped by the sudden sneeze he let out.

“Brilliant.” The Doctor rolled his eyes. “And now you've got pneumonia.”

The walk back to the house was quieter and distinctly more uncomfortable, not just because of their soaking clothes. The Doctor was trying not to pay attention to the increasing frequency of sneezes coming from his left. He'd scan him later when he was asleep to make sure it wasn't anything serious.

It was the Master who broke the silence first.

“When was the last time we did something like that? Something that wasn't to do with your work. Medically speaking.”

“I don't remember.”

“Neither do I.”

They didn't remember because it never existed, but it seemed to only make it seem more feeble. He couldn't have put a memory of them being happy together? Just one? He couldn't spare that amidst the intensity of making sure there were no brick walls inside the Master's head.

Later the Doctor would quietly sneak down to the Master's room to run his sonic over his sleeping body. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a small cold. He'd have to be careful with this delicate human immune system. He looked so calm and peaceful lying there. This was the man who had burned worlds, corrupted universes, and watched his old friends tortured at his feet. And all the while he'd laughed.

The Doctor had tried to change him. Make him calmer, give him friendship, maybe he'd gone too far.

Once he'd made sure the Master was safely tucked away he head out into the night to the police box at the end of the road. She was sleeping, and the Doctor was careful to disturb as little of her as possible as he used his computers.

He was searching for something. 'Whispering Woods', 'Abandoned hospital', 'Whispering Woods ruins'. He found some information which he read carefully.

'Legend has it that the Whispering Woods contain the spirits of the departed. The ones we forgot to mourn are heard in the bubbling of the creek and the whistling in the wind. On the edge of the woods lies Bovary Hospital, a home for Typhoid sufferers run by nuns in the late 1800s, closed down in 1901.

All plans to renovate it have been quickly struck down and it now lies in disrepair, guarded by statues of those angels who helped the sick and...'

'Statues of those angels.'

'Angels'

No.

It couldn't be. He'd refuse to believe it. It was a coincidence. After all, there were statues of angels everywhere and they weren't all aliens.

But, then he remembered the face the Master had made when he'd looked at the building. Full of hope and longing, a desperation to be inside. Some part of him, buried deep inside, had felt the great time energy that was pulsating through that old hospital. It was impossible for him to resist; he'd needed to run towards it.

He'd have to get away, as far as possible. His plans to keep his oldest friend safe were being pulled apart at the seems. The Master's head couldn't stand being ripped apart and put back together in such a short time. He'd have to live out this life, at least for a while, but they couldn't do that here.

The Doctor was as trapped as the Time Lord concealed in the watch in his pocket.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Your Doctor

 

_Some say the world will end in fire,_

_Some say in ice._

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favour fire._

 

 

The Doctor hadn't slept much as he noticed the first faded rays of dawn land on his pillow. Staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped on his stomach, he let out a deep cathartic sigh.

If they really were angels and not just some local legend whipped up over a couple of scary looking statues then his entire plan was about to slip through his fingers. He'd need to take the TARDIS as far away as possible, and the Master? Well, maybe he could put him in hyper sleep or something, but that still didn't solve the problem.

Feeling like a breath of fresh air would do him good he moved the window and undid the claps. The fractured wood screeched as he drew up the heavy window, letting it go when it was wide enough to stick his head out. It tentatively creaked down a millimetre before dropping the rest of the way straight onto the Doctor's hand.

He let out an exclamation of pain and staggered back, clutching his stinging wrist. That was going to leave one ugly bruise.

"Doctor?"

He heard the concerned voice outside his door and hurriedly smoothed his hair back to look more put together.

"I'm fine!" He called quickly, before opening the door wide and smiling uncomfortably. "Good morning Harry! You're looking well, want some breakfast? Good, me too!"

"Slow down there Doctor, what was that noise? Everything al right?"

"Fine, fine. Just a little trouble with the window."

The Master squinted at his overly enthusiastic face. His eyes began to swiftly scan the rest of the Doctor for a sign of anything out of the ordinary.

The Doctor's hand was placed firmly against the door frame, on the opposite side to the Master. He saw nothing.

"What was that you were saying about breakfast?"

"Never a bad time for breakfast! Morning is of course better, but-"

"Oh Doctor. Please stop talking."

His lips instantly pressed together in an indignant expression. He thought his human Master was turning out to be quite pleasant; in brief spurts of course. The real him was showing through the cracks every now and then.

"They'll be plenty of that during our session today."

"Our...session?"

"Yes, Doctor. Have you forgotten everything you came here to do?"

"Oh yes of course!" The Doctor felt like hitting himself. "Our...therapy session."

The Master was still frowning as he backed away from the Doctor's room and headed downstairs. The Doctor hastily pulled on some clothes and followed him.

The Master was sitting at the table reading a paper, two mugs in front of him. He pushed one towards the Doctor without looking up.

"What is it?" The Doctor asked, regarding it suspiciously.

"Just tea?" he posed his answer as a question. "Are you sure you're feeling al right?"

"You made me tea?" He tried not to sound too incredulous.

"Yes...Like I do every morning."

"You make me tea. Every. Morning."

When had he planted that one in the Master's head? Probably his ridiculous subconscious acting up.

"Do you want coffee instead?"

"No no no, tea is...fine. Tea is fine."

The Master looked back down at the paper after making sure the Doctor had taken a first sip. He shook his head slightly.

"Have you seen this?" He asked, folding out the front of the paper so he could see the full article.

"Is it today's?"

"Yes."

"Then it's unlikely that I have Harry."

"Indeed. I don't suppose you would." The Master smirked. "Have a look."

"Which one am I supposed to be reading?"

The Master responded with a silent point towards a square box. It was just the local newsletter, not exactly national news, but the Doctor's hearts skipped two beats when he read the headline.

'Haunted Hospital Opens For Halloween Tours.' He didn't feel like reading much more.

"You said it wouldn't be safe, but look, it is. We should have explored yesterday. Now's our chance."

"Not a good idea."

"You really are no fun Doctor. I thought you were a man of mystery and intrigue, surely this is just the thing for you."

The Doctor took a pair of glasses out his pocket in order to read the full article. It didn't look too exciting. Just some Halloween fodder for the villagers, probably to make someone a bit of money. But, if they'd been fixing up the place to make it safe for people to go inside, and there had been no disappearances, surely it couldn't be what he thought it was.

"Doctor?"

"Hmmm?"

"What happened to your hand?"

The Master was staring intently at the space between palm and wrist on the Doctor's left hand. It had blossomed into quite a bruise.

"I said I had some trouble with the window." He was going to laugh, make a joke about it, but then he saw how the Master was staring at it. What was that expression? Lust? No, couldn't be.

"Does it hurt?"

He didn't sound very sympathetic. The question was curious and clinical.

"Not really, I'm fine."

"It looks like it hurts."

"It doesn't." he replied firmly, moving his wrist further away from the prying gaze.

"It looks almost beautiful Doctor..."

"Don't say things like that."

The Master was lost somewhere, not paying attention.

"...like a nebula. I can see the galaxies in your palm Doctor." He traced a light finger over the purple bruise. It was getting increasingly uncomfortable. "It's like the space and stars are all here. In your hand."

"Stop it."

He had less strength in his voice now. This was scaring him, and he couldn't pin point the exact reason why. He tried to pull his hand away from the Master's light touch, but he wasn't expecting the Master's hand to close suddenly and painfully around his wrist.

"It really is beautiful Doctor, please let me look for longer."

He yanked his arm back as hard as he could, wincing at the pain and taking a stumbling step backwards. He noticed that they were both breathing shallowly.

The Master's eyes seemed to lose their glaze as he looked up into the Doctor's fearful ones. He clutched his wrist protectively as the Master let both of his fall to his side.

Something seemed to snap back inside him. The sane had fought and risen and was now resting at the top.

"Doctor, I-..."

"It's fine."

It wasn't fine. Had the Master been reminded of the stars and the whole of the universe when looking at his bruises, or was it something much darker that he remembered? Perhaps something he himself had inflicted.

"I didn't mean-...It wasn't-...I don't know what came over me Doctor, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He didn't know why he kept saying that. It wasn't like the Doctor to lie so blatantly when looking someone in the eye. "Just do me a favour."

"What?"

"Forget about that hospital."

  


  


  


  


When he'd thought of the idea to become the human Master's psychiatrist he'd thought it was a brilliant disguise. The perfect excuse to be close by and still be called the Doctor.

However, he was slowly realising that in order to make this plan realistic he'd have to actually become the Master's psychiatrist. He'd once said that the Master would be a psychiatrist's field day, but not his field day. This was not going to be a walk in the park.

The Master was sitting on the small sofa in the living room, the Doctor in the chair next to it. He'd put on his glasses and steepled his fingers in what he thought was his best Doctor impression, before remembering that he was actually a Doctor.

The Master crossed his legs one way, then the other, and finally settled on crossing both legs beneath him, instantly making his appearance seem smaller and more childlike.

He began to tap at the arm of the sofa, clearly waiting for the Doctor to start the ball rolling. The Doctor couldn't remember one single thing about this that he'd planted in the Master's brain. It would probably be hopeless.

"So...how have you been feeling?"

"Fine."

"I don't like fine, be honest with me Harry."

"Says the man who was all shades of fine this morning." The Master raised an eyebrow and paused in his tapping before continuing. "I've been a bit...how do I explain? Bored?"

"Bored? How so?"

"I've been in this tiny village so long, I feel like I haven't been outside for ages. I can barely remember leaving the front door it just seems like a dream to me."

"You've been outside," The Doctor affirmed for both of them. "Think of yesterday."

"What about before then? That must have been the first time in weeks. I wanted to travel Doctor."

Travel? More like conquer.

"Where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere. We could leave this place, travel the world, just you and I Doctor." He was gathering speed with this fantasy, his mind on the cusp of breaking free. "To the corners of the earth and back. To the stars and back!"

"That's impossible."

It wasn't that the Doctor wanted to break the Master's spirit. He just wanted this to be a quiet moment for both of them, for however long they needed to stay like this.

"Only if you believe it's not. They're building rockets to take us to the moon over in America. Right this second."

"Would you really want to travel the stars, Harry?"

"Would you join me Doctor?"

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the request. It was the very one he'd given the Master, who he'd then had to drag kicking and screaming into the TARDIS. The Master had softened after he'd been taken to witness the exploding of several suns, but it didn't do much to placate him.

"I'm just your Doctor, Harry."

"I suppose. I consider you a friend though."

Maybe he should be recording some of this. Just so he could play it back to the Master when he was fully Time Lord again. Just to watch him squirm.

"Right, well. Made any progress with the nightmares?"

"No."

"Oh."

There was a longer than comfortable silence. He'd been hoping that the Master would do most of the talking or at least prompt him what to say.

"I keep hearing that noise."

"The bullets?"

"It's the sound of war, Doctor. The sound of war constantly in my head. I can block it out when I'm awake, but when I'm asleep it's as if I have no control over my mind."

The Doctor thought back to a time when he'd used a clever wiring system linked to the TARDIS's telepathic field. It had let him see into the dreams of The Wakeless and had helped him find a way to make them, well, not so 'wakeless'. He wondered if he could explain away standing over the Master in the middle of the night with a bunch of wires. Probably not.

"What can you see in these dreams?"

"Flames, and smoke, and...you're in them Doctor." He looked up and their eyes met. The Doctor felt his insides burning. He quickly looked down at his fingers.

"I always see you, running from something. You're in danger, Doctor. Always. Terrible terrible danger. I can see it, it's so tangible it could almost be real. I almost could believe you really were in danger Doctor, that something was coming to get you, and it's travelled so far. So far through war and darkness and it's coming closer and-"

The Master let out a painful groan and held his head in his hands. His eyes were squeezed tight shut and he shook a little. Immediately a hand was placed on his shoulder and he managed to open his eyes a little to see the Doctor's worried face looking back.

"They're louder when I think of you, Doctor." He was whispering, barely moving his lips, but staring straight at the Doctor with those red and bloodshot eyes. "They're tearing my head apart."

Was the Master...crying? The Doctor could only stare helplessly back at him. Feeling him shake beneath his awkwardly placed hand.

"They'll leave you alone soon. I promise."

Without even realising how it happened, the Doctor had allowed the Master to lean against him, and then his other hand had moved around him. Protecting him physically in the only way he could from his own mind.

The Master's hands were still clenched over his ears, the tension visible in his white knuckles. They remained like that for a while, the Doctor simply holding the Master, feeling so very detached from the man he thought he knew so well.

"There's something else I always see." The Master's voice sounded ripped apart. "Why?"

"What is it?" He looked down at the man in his arms whose own eyes were fixed on a point in the distance.

"Why, Doctor?"

"Why what?"

"You and the flames. You're always running, but you're always running towards them."

 


End file.
